The Ballgame
by bammi1
Summary: For the first time ever, Bobby's dad was coming to his game... One shot


The Ball Game 

June, 1971

Young Bobby Goren, ten years old, was very excited. Bobby was a Little Leaguer, and in the entire three years he'd played ball, so far, he'd never had anyone come to watch him play. But today was special. For one thing it was his tenth birthday (and aside from his mother's happy birthday greeting, went relatively ignored) and for the first time ever, his dad was coming to watch him. Bobby was actually a pretty good player, but today he was very nervous. His dad was actually coming to watch him play, and Bobby wanted to make his dad proud.

Bobby made sure his uniform was clean, because Mom was sick again, and rode his bike to the ball fields, to get in a little pre-game practice. There he spotted the rest of his team, including his buddy Lewis, in their gray and white pinstripes and black ball caps. Bobby felt good about being on the team, and the team was good for him. As the youngest child of a schizophrenic mother and an alcoholic father, his home life was not great, so this provided a safe outlet for a very sad and neglected little boy. Playing ball on a team gave Bobby a sense of belonging, something sorely missing in his life.

It hadn't been easy, getting dad to come; it took a lot of cajoling and promises on both his part and his mother's. Because to be honest, big Joe Goren had absolutely no interest in seeing his youngest son play ball. Joe Goren had no interest in his son at all.

Bobby joined his team near their bench where the coach was talking to the boys. As Bobby approached, Coach told him, "Bobby, you're pitching today." Bobby's heart skipped a beat: he was pitching! Maybe if he pitched really well, his dad would be proud, and maybe then he would like Bobby a little more. "And Lewis," Coach finished, "you'll be at second and bat ninth. Okay guys, go warm up."

As they went off to practice, Bobby caught up with Lewis.

"Guess what?" Bobby said. Without waiting for Lewis to reply, Bobby answered his own question. "Dad's coming today!"

Lewis looked surprised, his eyes bulging behind his horn-rimmed glasses. "Really? Here? Wow, Bobby, that's great!" Lewis secretly had his doubts about it actually happening, but he'd never say that to Bobby.

But Bobby was a very smart ten-year-old, and he knew what Lewis was thinking. And appreciated very much his friend not saying it.

The boys had been friends for years, since before kindergarten, and were very close, even the same age. Yet they couldn't be more different. Bobby was the taller of the two, with "Bobby Brady" dark curls sticking out from under his ball cap, and had big soft brown eyes. He was a quiet boy, very intelligent and most of the time, laid back. And when he chose to be, Bobby could be very athletic.

Lewis was a scrappy little guy, a great second baseman, with straight dark hair and glasses, and very mechanically minded. He had a good close family life, and he tried to include Bobby in it as much as possible. Between the two of them, they found plenty of ways to get themselves in hot water.

It was now almost game time. As Bobby took the mound, he scanned the small crowd for a glimpse of his father. No sign of him yet. Bobby was disappointed, but figured there was still lots of time.

One, two, three; three batters up, three down. Bobby, who was a very talented lefty, struck out two, and the third out came on a pop up to Lewis.

As they came in off the field, the coach congratulated the team on a good inning. And Bobby once again scanned the crowd.

Lewis came up and tried to encourage him. "Don't worry, Bobby, he'll be here." He patted Bobby on the back. Bobby gave him a slight smile.

"Yeah, I know." He was already starting to doubt it. He started to get a bad feeling in his stomach, it was starting to hurt, the way it always did when his father let him down.

The next inning, after one out, Bobby finally saw his dad. He was sitting in the bleachers, and Bobby saw, to his horror, the familiar brown bag in his hand, and that his father was already drunk. Right away his father started in. He began by berating the other team. Bobby was distracted, and the next hitter slammed one up the middle, just between the reach of both Bobby and Lewis.

Joe Goren stood up, shouting at his son. "You little shit! Catch the fucking ball! Dive for it!" Bobby turned bright red. Then he walked the next batter, eliciting more verbal abuse from his father. By the time the inning was over, the Indians had scored three runs to the Little Yanks none, and Joe was down by the fence.

"Get over here!" he hissed at Bobby. The coach wanted to talk to Bobby, and he hesitated. He knew he needed to talk to his coach, and out of respect, he should. But out of a bigger need to keep his body intact, he went to his father.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" he demanded. "You're playing like a freakin' girl! You better straighten up, or I'm gonna yank you right off this team! They're not teaching you shit!"

"Dad…"

"You embarrass me out there, I swear to God, I'm gonna beat your ass raw. Got it?" He had Bobby by the front of his uniform. Bobby nodded.

Bobby put a lot of pressure on himself, and again got the side out with three strikeouts. His dad was still being obnoxious in the stands, so much so that the people near him moved. He didn't care, he was having a good time drinking and carrying on in the stands.

The next inning Coach, who only allowed his young charges to pitch four innings at most, took Bobby out as pitcher, and put him in at shortstop "You did good out there, Bobby. Now go get them in the field."

The score still stood at three to nothing. Bobby, who had an excellent arm, made some great plays at short, including a double play with Lewis, and had a couple of hits, and struck out once. Despite all the good things Bobby did, his Dad chose to point to the strike out, yelling at him loudly in front of the crowd.

"You little sissy!" he yelled. "Don't back off from that pitcher! Crowd that plate!" Bobby crowded the plate, and the next ball went whizzing past his ear. Then he struck out. He turned to look at his dad, to see his reaction. His dad looked at him disgustedly, mouthing "pussy" and Bobby walked back to the dugout with his head down.

"It's all right, buddy, you'll get 'em next time!" the coach said. The whole team was encouraging. And Bobby _would_ get 'em next time; he was a good player.

"Hey Mark," Coach said to his assistant. "Take over for a little while?"

"Sure, Jim," the assistant agreed. "Okay boys! Let's get out there and hold em!"

Coach went out in the crowd and caught up with Joe Goren. "Hey, you Bobby's dad?"

Joe narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, I am. What'd he do now?"

"Nothing. Come over here a minute, will you?" He led Joe away from the stands.

Once out of the public eye and behind a building, Coach lit into Joe.

"Listen, Goren, I want to tell you here and now that I do not appreciate one bit the way you've acted here tonight. You've been totally obnoxious to the other parents around you, and worst yet, you've treated your son like shit. You embarrassed him in front of his teammates and everyone here. Bobby's—"

Joe shoved him. "You don't tell me how to raise my kid—" He shut up as Coach's fist hit him in the mouth.

"I'm not telling you how to raise your kid, though God knows somebody should. I'm just telling you that when you're out here, at my fields, you're going to act right and treat your son with the respect he deserves. Bobby's a great kid, and you don't even know it. He's also a good little ball player who needs encouragement, like any other ten-year-old. Now for the rest of this game you're going to sit there and watch. And if you can't say anything nice, then keep your mouth shut. Or I'm gonna shut it for you!" With that Coach walked away, back to his team.

Joe Goren wiped the blood from his mouth, amazed that someone had the guts to hit him. He was a pretty big guy; that almost never happened. He was usually the guy doing the hitting. He'd have his own talk with that coach later, but for now he did as Coach "suggested" and watched the rest of the game from behind the stands, in silence.

What he watched was actually pretty good. Lewis led off the last inning with an infield single, thanks to his speed. Then the lead off batter, Ronnie, hit one up the middle, advancing the speedy Lewis to third. The next batter, David, struck out, as did Tom. Then Jay was walked, loading the bases and bringing up Bobby.

Talk about pressure! The bases were loaded, two outs, everyone was screaming, either for or against the batter, and… Bobby's dad was there. The first pitch was right down the middle for a strike.

"It's okay, Bobby," Coach called out to him. "Wait for your pitch!"

The next pitch whizzed by his ear again; he had to drop to the ground to avoid being hit.

"Brush it off, Bobby. Hang in there!"

Then one of his teammates yelled "Pretend it's your dad, Bobby! Hit it!"

Bobby frowned, and Coach said something to the boy.

When the next pitch came, Bobby hit it as hard as he could. The ball went flying, further and further, right over the fence. All the kids were screaming, as first Lewis, then Ronnie, then Jay crossed the plate, tying the score, followed by Bobby with the winning run. Bobby had a huge smile on his face.

The kids mobbed Bobby, and Lewis jumped on his back, followed by a few others, until they all collapsed on the ground in a heap. Then the coaches were congratulating the boys, and Coach said, "Okay, guys, ice cream on me!"

When Bobby finally emerged from the bottom of the heap, he looked around for his dad. He didn't see him. His dad had left.

"C'mon, Bobby," Lewis called, "Let's go get that ice cream."

Bobby shook his head. "Not hungry. I…gotta go. Stomach hurts…"

Lewis watched as his friend left. God, he hated Bobby's dad!

When Bobby got to his house, he walked in slowly, very quietly. He knew his dad would be on the couch, drinking, and he didn't want to upset him and maybe get a beating. His dad's eyes were closed. Maybe he was asleep. He tried to pass soundlessly, but suddenly his dad's hand snaked out and grabbed him by his wrist.

"Where ya going?" his father demanded.

"M-my room," Bobby said tentatively, bracing himself for, at the least, a hard smack in the mouth. "I…I didn't mean—"

"I saw your homerun tonight."

Bobby was too surprised to say anything. His dad saw it?

"You did good tonight." He released Bobby's wrist, and through half-closed eyes, went back to watching the game on tv.

"Thanks, Dad," Bobby said, still shocked. Once in his room he plopped on his bed, smiling broadly, his hands behind his head. He was so happy. He finally did something to make his dad proud and now his dad would finally like him. For the first time in a very long time he went to sleep contented.

Tomorrow, things would return to normal, his dad would be mean and drunk again, or maybe act like Bobby wasn't even his son. But for at least one night, Bobby had made his father proud. It was his best birthday ever.

End.


End file.
